


Memories Deeper Than Bone

by Zanne



Series: Unhinged Winchesters [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-08
Updated: 2011-06-08
Packaged: 2017-10-19 22:00:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,314
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/205673
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zanne/pseuds/Zanne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John has his own secret trapped in the storage locker.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories Deeper Than Bone

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to [](http://caelumi.livejournal.com/profile)[**caelumi**](http://caelumi.livejournal.com/) for betaing. She thought John was unhinged in this which is a great compliment! Kripke owns all and I make no profit. This is set during _Faith_ and is technically non-canon, but I can fanwank it so canon-ness is debatable. 

  
The door swung open with a hesitant creak, as if unsure it should let even John into the secrets it held masked in the darkness. Without bothering to turn on the light, John took a couple of steps to the right, dismantling the booby-traps with practiced ease, unhitching wires and locking the safety on the gun before he took his next breath.

Dust and the faint scent of decay filled his nostrils, the light from the outer room showing only his footprints in the grime on the floor. This place reminded John of a mausoleum more than a storage locker; there was so much death here – death of life, death of dreams, death of hope. Every visit only added more to the mass grave he’d made for these things that shouldn’t exist.

Well, most things. He stepped forward, hand brushing along the table dedicated to his sons, leaving faint traces to show he’d been there – a large thumbprint on the face of Sam’s soccer trophy, four even dots where his fingers rested on the barrel of Dean’s gun.

The dust would cover his visit again soon enough. He’d trained himself to stay away from here, a place far too easy to stay lost in.

But the need had become overwhelming when he’d heard Sam’s tinny voice on his voicemail, telling him Dean was dying. John knew Dean would pull through – Dean _always_ pulled through; Sam had been gone long enough to forget that important fact – but hearing that his boy was hurt had made something in John’s belly twist, pulling him here before he even knew where he was going.

He needed to talk to her, to touch her – just for a little while.

John pulled the cord on the dangling overhead lamp, a small pool of light brightening a patch of the darkness surrounding him. He knelt, reaching far behind the stacks of curse boxes and fetish traps he’d heaped on the shelves, his large hand folding around the small, rowan box carved with runes and protective sigils – carvings meant to keep something in, confined, unable to leave without permission.

Settling himself in that small puddle of brightness, John set the box before him, reaching to draw a large circle around his body in the thick dust coating the floor, sketching bits of words and phrases, runes of containment.

He sometimes wondered why he never painted the lines firm and unbreakable, why he laid so much trust in the dust that a simple movement could accidentally obscure, losing everything with a badly timed sneeze or fidget. Hidden somewhere deep inside - where his conscience fought a losing battle with his desires - John knew why, but his weakness was still strong, never allowing him to reach out to erase them until it was over.

He belonged in Hell for this; he knew that much. But there were some things a man was willing to lose his soul for.

This was his.

With a shaky breath, John reached out and ran his fingers over the iron bands that bound the box, cutting sleek lines through the ash blonde wood. Carefully, he unlocked it, the slight sticking of the key indicating how long it had been since he’d last opened it.

What looked like a small pile of dirty sticks and stones lay spread over the blood-red velvet lining of the container. With a soft groan, John reached in, caressing each fragment with a palpable reverence – a pilgrim at the altar of his Holy Grail. His forefinger brushed repeatedly over a melted lump of metal stuck to one piece, feeling the slickness of the gold give way to the dry brittleness of the bone beneath.

They said she’d burned to nothing, that there wasn’t anything left to find. They were wrong. It took weeks to find this tiny pile of debris, but John found everything he could, sifting patiently through the ashes with nothing more than some of Dean’s old beach toys that hadn’t melted in the fire.

 _Let me out.  
_  
The voice was faint, could hardly even be called a voice, more like a fading memory that brushed through his brain. But it was insistent, an itch that refused to go away.

“I’ve missed you, Mary,” John murmured softly under his breath, dragging his hand over the bones and letting them fall through his fingers like bits of rock and sand.

 _Let me out.  
_  
“The boys are doing fine. Dean was hurt, but he’s gonna be okay. You know how tough he is.” John chuckled, lost in his reminiscing. “Remember when he fell down the front step and we both panicked, thinking he’d broken something for sure? All he did was get up and brush off his knees and run off to play in the yard….”

 _Let me out.  
_  
“Sam’s back. Did I tell you? It’s been so long since we last talked. He’s with Dean. They’re both doing fine. A good hunter…and _smart_ , Mary. God, he’s so smart. Still a pain in my ass, but he got your brains, thank God.”

 _Let me out.  
_  
“I wanted you to know, I think I’m getting close. The…thing, the demon who took you away from me, I’ve got a lead. A _good_ lead, this time.”

 _Let me out.  
_  
John sighed, his eyes sliding closed as the reverberating echo kept pushing at his brain. “I promised to keep you safe. Don’t you remember? It was in my vows. You giggled when you heard how badly I fucked them up.” John laughed ruefully, shaking his head at the memory. “It was nerves – you were just so beautiful that when I looked at you, everything the minister said fell right out of my head - but I meant every word. _‘To love, honor, and protect and not even death can keep us apart’_.”

 _Let me out.  
_  
John gently lifted the scrap of phalanx, thumb still sweeping repeatedly over where the metal met the bone. “I can keep you safe here, where nothing bad can ever touch you again.”

John leaned in, lips brushing bone as he whispered his pledge against the melted wedding band. “I love you, Mary. You will _always_ be mine.”

The voice fell silent as he settled the scrap of bone back in the box amidst the others, mute without his touch - no memory to drink from, no life from which to bleed its power. John snapped the box shut, his hand resting on the top as if in benediction, scraping the pads of his fingers over the pale blonde wood – the same golden shade as her hair - as if trying to recall the soft strands tangled in his grip before slipping down to click the lock back into place. He got to his knees, pushing the box into its hiding place at the very back of the shelf, uncaring of the designs drawn in the dust as his legs swept them clear.

John slowly got to his feet, the harsh light of the overhead lamp casting skeletal shadows over his features, making his cheeks hollow and his eyes as black as death. A slow smile settled over his face, an expression that would have alarmed anyone who might have had the misfortune to see it, highlighted as it was by the unforgiving spotlight above him.

John’s eyes burned in the shadows of his face, that familiar zealousness lighting him up from the inside. His left hand reached up for the dangling cord, the light glinting off his wedding band as he checked the gun at the back of his belt with the other, making sure it remained in place.

It was good to talk with Mary again. She made everything so _clear_.

With a quick pull of the cord, the storage room was cloaked in darkness once more, hiding its dangerous secrets from a world unprepared to face them…

…hiding things that shouldn’t exist at all. 


End file.
